Gone
by RuthlessBallard
Summary: In the episode "Deadlock" when the ship is falling apart, Janeway is informed that Ensign Wildman's baby had died. There is a moment where Janeway begins to walk away saying she had to speak to her Sam before plans changed. This is what I feel the interaction would have been like. Warning: Infant death


My midsection still feels like it has been ripped torn apart. There are still a few strands of hair sticking to my neck as the sweat slowly dries away. I still tremble slightly from the trauma of the last few hours. My throat is still raw from the hours of crying out and series of curse words spewing towards the doctor. I am exhausted, I am sore, I am barely a person. But that is to be expected of a woman who had just given birth. A woman who has had given birth to a tiny little bundle of everything. But she's gone.

I don't understand.

I carried her for nine months, I read to her as she developed, I ate everything the Doctor recommended, I allowed my heart to grow tender and vulnerable so she would always have a home there. I vowed my body and soul to her well being. I did everything I could. But she's gone.

I groan as the ship shakes violently once more and every abused muscle in my body feels it. I accept the pain. I welcome it. My child had been in the world for merely moments before she….she….

I don't understand.

I hear a swish.

I lay on my side and stare. I continue to stare at the space where the crib used to be. Kes was quick to wheel it away when she noticed my eyes fixated in horror. The Doctor was about to sedate me when the ship began to jostle from blow after blow.

I hear The Doctor say something only to be cut off.

I can still almost see her. I can almost see her right where she materialized into the room, into existance, into a nightmare. I lay there confused and disoriented. Why didn't she cry? Why wasn't she breathing? What mother just lays there watching her child…

"Sam"

The ship shakes again with less force. Whoever is shaking us, I hope they blow us up this time. I hope for once the senior staff doesn't pull off a miracle as always. I hope they fail.

"Sam" a voice repeats near by

I grip the blanket draped over me. I refuse to go on, not without her. That baby is so much more, so so so much more than my life. She is so much more than my needs, my hopes, my successes, my failures. That baby is my everything. My everything is not here.

I hear a sob. I think it's coming from me. I hear another sob. It's coming from beside me. A hand is placed on my shoulder. Someone crouches by the bed as they level their face near mine. I look with burning eyes to meet a concerned, teary Captain.

"I'm…..I….oh Sam I'm so sorry. I'm so so sorry." she weeps

Her words are the final hammer. What she speaks is the final say. We are not in danger until she says "red alert". We are not able to relax until she says "at ease". We are not claimed until she says "my crew". Nothing is really a fact until she deems it so. There before me with blood still dripping from her temple, her thumb caressing my cheek, her face scrunched as tears fall, there she signs my childs death certificate. Though I am well aware of the fact of the loss of my child, the reality of it all hits.

"No" I argue pitifully "No. No. Nooooo. NO."

I chant my arguement, my refusal to my loss. My leader pulls me into her embrace. I scream into her shoulder. She holds me tight. She grips me.

"I know" she says into my ear "I know, Sam."

How could she? I want to scream in her face. I want to tell her off. I want to hit her. I want her to feel half the agony I do. But instead I grip back. She pulls away and looks me in the eye.

"Listen to me." She says so ferverently "You are not alone. You WILL NOT face this alone."

My eyes are swimming with tears. My mind is sluggish. But I feel her words are of importance. I shake my head in bewilderment. All I can think of is the emptiness I feel in my womb and in my heart.

She clutches my face in her plams, forcing me to look at her in the eye.

"We have lost this baby" she says with full authority "We will not lose you. Do you understand, Crewman?"

Before I can even pull together a cognitive reply she pulls me back into her arms. I continue to cry but in the midst of my sobs she apparently is able to pull herself together.

"I have to sedate her" The Doctor informs from behind her.

"Fine" she replies still holding me "I don't want her alone for a second when she wakes up."

"Of course, Captain."

"I'll send her friends down here to sit with her. I'll set up a shift rotation."

"I understand but she needs her rest now. You both do."

"I'll be back" she informs me as she releases me from her embrace.

I hear a hiss and I keep my eyes fixed on the Captain as my vision tunnels into blackness.


End file.
